If, just a few hours ago, someone had walked up to Bilbo and informed him he'd be playing host to a honest to goodness gang, he would have given them the most peculiar look he could muster and politely informed them that they needed to have their head checked out. Now, though, Bilbo wondered if he was the one in need of a psychiatric examination since not only had he allowed the gang members to stay in his home, but he was cooking for them as well. Grumbling under his breath as he simultaneously turned down the stove and added another clove of garlic into his stew, Bilbo whole heartedly blamed his mother for this behavior. Belladonna Took-Baggins—a woman known for never denying a hungry soul. Random strangers could come knocking on the Baggins' front door and ask for anything, readymade or not, so long as Belladonna was home.
Hearing another crash come from his dining room, Bilbo flinched and hurried back to see what those hooligans had broken this time. There was joyous laughter coming from all the men as they sat, quite comfortable, around his grandmother's dining table. Gandalf stood at the head, a cigar wedged between his teeth, looking very pleased with himself. All the dishes that had been scattered about the table just moments ago were now piled high—precariously high—in front of Gandalf. How he got them all together, and so cleared away of their grimy leftovers, Bilbo had no idea, but he didn't trust it one bit. No sir, he thought, it had to be some sort of trick. He'd definitely heard a crash. No doubt all his real dishes were broken beneath the table and these were just some cheap imitations—an illusion—of his real ones. Brow furrowing, Bilbo opened his mouth to—once again—chastise the men about their rowdiness and general loudness when he heard two solid knocks come from his front door.
Gandalf whispered an ominous, "He's here," before moving faster than Bilbo had yet seen towards the front door to answer it himself. The room full of men had turned quiet as they all turned to watch Gandalf disappear down the hallway. Wrinkling his nose and pursing his lips, Bilbo decided to follow Gandalf and see for himself who was at the door. It was, after all, his house. He'd be the one to decide if the newcomer was granted entry. He heard a phlegmy cough behind him and his head twitched to the left. Right, well, he had to at least try and act like he had some say in the matter.
He walked into his foyer just as Gandalf opened the door. Another man stood on Bilbo's porch. He was looking out off to the side, but turned his head—a faintly amused smirk on his lips—as the door squeaked open. Bilbo's face became hot and he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from gasping. This man—Bilbo had never seen anything like him. He was nothing like the regular, vanilla looking suburban men he'd seen all his life, and he didn't seem to fit the mold of the other men inside his house. No, he looked something completely different, something regal, or majestic. He had a beard, like the rest had, but his was neat and trimmed. Bilbo could easily see how much effort the man put into maintaining it. His hair was mostly all black, but the silvery parts of his hair—the parts that people usually tried to hide away—were braided along the side of his head and tied up along with the rest of his locks into a messy bun. His eyes were blue and they reminded Bilbo of a lake in winter, with a fresh layer of ice forming along the top. Bilbo thought he was the most beautiful person he'd ever seen. He thought he was the most dangerous person, too. Even beneath his oversized jacket, below the heavy fur lining, Bilbo could see the man's muscles straining against the material of the sleeves. He looked poised, even elegant to a degree, but radiated power. Bilbo's instincts told him that if prodded, the man's tightly coiled muscles would snap faster and harder than that of a newly sprung mouse trap.
"Gandalf," he greeted, his voice bringing Bilbo out of his half-dreaming state. "I thought you said this place would be easy to find. I lost my way," he took off his coat and—Bilbo now realized they had an audience, as the other men had followed him—threw it into the arms of one of the younger men. Ori, Bilbo's mind vaguely supplied a name. "Twice." He said this as though he was proud of it somehow. "I could barely see that mark on the door."
"Mark?" Bilbo asked, his head flashing between the man and his door. "There's no mark on that door," he assured both the man and himself. "I had it painted a week ago!" Gandalf closed the door before Bilbo could get a proper look, so he directed his disgruntled expression towards him.
"Never mind that now," Gandalf said with a placating smile. He gestured between Bilbo and the man, "Bilbo Baggins, allow me to introduce you to the leader of the Sons of Durin: Thorin Oakenshield."
Bilbo made a small, almost inaudible noise. It was halfway between a groan and a whine and if asked, he would deny ever making such a sound. Thorin's eyebrows rose as he surveyed Bilbo, "So," he said slowly before taking a step forward, standing directly in front of Bilbo now. He crossed his arms and looked down at him with a calculating look in his eyes, "This is our man." He enunciated every word, making Bilbo feel all of two feet tall. Thorin began circling around Bilbo like a shark circling a freshly bleeding scuba diver, "Tell me Mr. Baggins, have you done much fighting?"
"Pardon me?" Bilbo asked softly, not sure he heard correctly. Of all the strange things that have happened tonight, this might be the strangest. Thorin Oakenshield—a notorious gang leader—was standing in his foyer, looking all too handsome to be real, and asking Bilbo if he ever fought. Was this really happening?
"Knives or bullets, what's your weapon of choice?" Thorin clarified, coming around from behind Bilbo on his left hand side. He still had an unimpressed, but analytical, gleam in his eye.
Bilbo hated it. He wanted to wipe that look from Thorin's face. He suspected Thorin must've known Bilbo was no fighter—the doilies around his house could have told anyone that—so, like the smart alec his father always accused him of being, he replied with a peppy shuffle of his feet, "Well I have some skill at Yahtzee, if you must know," Bilbo made his voice as gravelly and as hard as possible, trying to sound as intimidating as one could when speaking of a dice game, "but I fail to see," he paused to look into Thorin's blue—oh so very blue—eyes and had to glance down at the floor. His bravado quickly faded and he lamely ended his sentence with, "how that's relevant."
"Thought as much," Thorin said smugly, a sly grin on his face as he looked over his shoulder to share conspiratory snickers with the rest of the gang. "He looks more like a grocer than a burglar," he told his men, causing them to break of in raucous laughter. Some even had to bend over, holding their sides, due to laughing so hard. Giving Bilbo one last cheeky smile, Thorin turned and led the way back down the hallway, deeper into Bilbo's house.
Cheeks puffing out in indignation—what was so wrong with being a grocer?—Bilbo glared at the back of Thorin's head as he disappeared down the hallway. Cursing himself under his breath, Bilbo felt he should have known better. It was, after all, always the handsome ones that were the worst. Pretty on the outside but rotten on the in, his mother used to say. Curling his hands into fists at his sides, Bilbo hid his feelings of disappointment with self-righteous fury. How dare he—this stranger, this Thorin—come into Bilbo's home and insult him in such a manner? Straightening his shoulders and furrowing his brow, Bilbo followed after the group. They'd be gone from his home soon enough—as soon as Gandalf got whatever it was he needed—and Bilbo would never have to deal with any of them ever again. Cracking his neck to the side, Bilbo let out a snort. At least, he supposed, he'll have learned something from this experience: never again would he be distracted by a pretty face.
A/N: Here's chapter 2! If you liked it please let me know by leaving a review! Hopefully I'll get the next chapter out sometime this week!